


Dusk 'Til Dawn

by HollowIsTheWorld



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bittersweet, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Fluff, M/M, i have no idea where ghost stories fall in terms of tagging character death, pre-story character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6571351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowIsTheWorld/pseuds/HollowIsTheWorld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long time ago, Damen promised Laurent he'd never leave his side. Damen always finds a way to keep his promises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dusk 'Til Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by the song [Ghost Story by Charming Disaster](https://youtu.be/keegRRp2TN4)
> 
> I am also over on [tumblr](http://http://hollowistheworld.tumblr.com/), if you want to talk to me.

Black isn't really Laurents color. He's so pale already; he ends up rather washed out. Like a ghost attending his own funeral. He almost smiles to himself at the thought but he manages to keep it off his face. It's been harder the last few days; keeping his emotions properly hidden.

Guion clasps one of his hands. “Laurent,” he says, his voice choked with convincing sympathy. Laurent could almost let himself believe the man might have been crying before entering the church. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

With difficulty Laurent doesn't think he's ever experienced, he refrains from laughing in Guions face, or giving any indication that he wants to. Instead, he puts his free hand over Guions, and summons up a weak, shaky smile, perfect for the occasion. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

That's the expected and appropriate response. Laurent has gotten very good at giving it over the last few days. It's an empty sentiment, but then, so are the apologies.

Waiting for the service to begin, Laurent suspects, will be the hardest part of the service. Sitting through it will not be a challenge, and he hopes that it will be easy to slip out afterwards by claiming to be overwhelmed by emotion. Now, however, is the time of sympathies and expressions of affection from people he barely knows - he doesn't think he's ever been hugged so much in his life. At least he isn't expected to draw up genuine-seeming smiles at his uncle's funeral service. He suspects his cheeks would be aching by now if he did.

He is sitting in his pew already, right up at the front where people have to go out of their way to speak to him. It is a wonderful side effect of death, Laurent thinks, that the grief everyone expects him to feel excuses him from having to do so many things he doesn't want to. Actions that would normally be met with arrogant disapproval and comments about his being a ‘bitch’ are instead taken in stride, accepted, and even suggested. Yesterday, a woman had told him she would understand completely if he were to simply not come in to work for a few weeks. Laurent is entertaining the thought of doing just that, enjoying the freedom to take his time on decisions with no pressure from his uncle to pick one before it was too late.

Jord is sitting beside him, looking vaguely uncomfortable and out of place in his suit. Laurent had asked him to come along, for emotional support. Jord had seemed uncertain about what was expected of him for such a thing, but of course had agreed. Laurent imagined he thought Laurent wanted emotional support for what he was _truly_ likely to be upset about, and Laurent saw no reason to deny it. The truth was more complicated than he wanted to deal with just now. Jord was here, and if Laurent simply couldn't put up with the crowds any longer, or if too many people tried to hug him, a glare or an excuse from Jord was usually enough to send them slinking away without asking questions. Sometimes they even apologized as they did so; horrified with themselves for upsetting Laurent in the depths of his grief.

When the priest begins talking at last, Laurent has to fight back a sigh of relief. The worst is over with. He smooths his face over with the neutral expression he has perfected over the years, and settles back to pretend to listen to whatever it is that's being preached. Beside him, Jord just looks restless. Laurent can't blame him. It's not easy, sitting at a funeral for a man you never liked. Laurent finds it made easier by the relief offered by this ceremony, this confirmation that the man is gone and never coming back. He doubts Jord feels the same.

The funeral drags on. And on. And on. The priest finishes sometime around when Laurent’s back starts to ache from the wooden seat.  Then there are speeches. Empty, flowery speeches from people who have learned the art of crying on cue. There are lots of them. Laurent had been asked if he wanted to give one, but had replied that he didn't think he could handle it. It isn't his fault they all thought that meant something it didn't.

It ends at last, and Jord and Laurent make their escape; false smiles of gratitude plastered to their faces as they maneuver out of the church.

Several minutes later, Jord finally lets out a sigh of relief. “I'm _very_ glad that's over.”

Laurent has to remind himself that even now, even with no one around but Jord, a genuine smile would be out of place. He nods instead, and let's out a long breath that he hadn't quite realized he'd been holding throughout the service. “The worst of it is done with, at least.”

Jord nods, then looks somewhat uncomfortable. “Are you going home? Or, if you don't want to, we could probably find some people to go drinking with. I think we could both use one.”

He isn't wrong, but Laurent doesn't want drinks in a bar, and he doesn't want company right now. Not the kind Jord is thinking of, anyway. “I'm going home. I need the space.”

Jord nods and, though they don't part ways until Laurent is on his doorstep, they don't speak again.

Once inside, Laurent lets out a heavy sigh of relief and loosens his tie. He makes his way to the kitchen, discarding clothing as he goes, for once not caring that his suit jacket is going to get wrinkled or that he won't be able to find his shoes in the morning. He fixes himself a drink and leans against the kitchen counter as he sips it, staring out the window.

The sun sinks down at a maddeningly slow pace, inching towards the horizon. Laurent watches, finishes his drink. Pours himself another one. The light changes from blue skies, to dark blue, to flashes and streaks of oranges and pinks. Slowly, slowly it grows darker and darker, and finally the sun sinks out of sight, and Laurent isn't alone.

"How was it?" a voice asks in his ear.

Laurent smiles, genuinely for the first time all day, softly. "As good as it possibly could be, I suppose," he says, and he turns to face Damen.

It's new, seeing Damen like this, and Laurent is not very quick to get used to it. But it's happening faster than he would have expected.

Damen isn't quite there; he'll start to fade if Laurent looks at him too hard or from the wrong angle. He looks real enough right now, but Laurent can still see that something isn't quite right. Like he's blurred out around the edges or something. It's... disconcerting. But comforting all the same. Damen is a mess of contradictions.

Damen leans back against the counter, as though it's actually capable of helping him stay upright. "My funeral's tomorrow, right?"

Laurent nods, takes another sip of his drink.

"It's hard to keep track of the days like this," Damen says, and he looks out the window. There's nothing to see out there now; it's too dark. Laurent wonders if Damen's thinking about how he'll never see a properly bright day ever again.

And all for Laurent's sake.

“That’s a weird sentence to say,” Damen says abruptly.

Laurent smiles at him. "It's an odd sentence to _hear_. If it helps, I imagine that your funeral will be a lot less uncomfortable than my uncle's was."

"I'm really not sure how to feel about that."

"Take it as a compliment," Laurent says flippantly.

Damen laughs, and he flickers a little. Laurent pretends not to notice.

Then Damen is right up against him.

In stories, ghosts are always cold. The first time Damen had appeared after his death - just a few days ago, though it feels like a lifetime - Laurent had expected standing near him to be uncomfortable, had thought he'd lost Damen's comforting warmth for good.

Damen is not cold. He isn't warm, exactly, not in the way that Laurent usually thinks of the word, but he isn't cold. It's as if... as if he is somehow an embodiment of the memory of warmth. _Damen's_ warmth, specifically. No one else's. No one else could be warm in the same way Damen - and now Damen's ghost - can be.

That memory of warmth seems to surround Laurent, and he's not sure if Damen has his size to thank for that, or if it's just some sort of ghostly ability.

Damen kisses Laurent's temple. Kisses are different now too, but Laurent doesn't mind. It's like he can feel the emotion that Damen puts behind his kiss, like there's a telepathic connection between them now that could never have been there when both their hearts were beating.

"The hard part will be looking upset tomorrow," Laurent says after a few silent moments pass. "No one at my uncle's funeral knew me well enough to tell I didn't care except for Jord, and he didn't expect me to. Everyone at your funeral will be expecting me to be a bit more... genuine."

Damen smiles and kisses Laurent again. He seems unconcerned, but that isn't surprising. He generally didn't seem overly concerned about things while he was alive, and death seems to only have relaxed him. Laurent is almost envious. "You'll manage. Or you could tell them, I suppose."

Laurent scoffs, and threads his fingers through Damen's. He can't hold him too tightly, he'll vanish if he does, but light touches don't seem to disrupt anything. "Tell them that my boyfriend, while technically dead, has taken to visiting me from sundown to sunrise every day? Yes, I'm sure that would go over very well with everyone."

Damen smiles again, leans his head in closer. "Whatever you want. If they don't know, it just means they'll never want a turn to talk to me." He's practically touching noses with Laurent now, and Laurent would have been able to feel his breath if he still breathed. "Then you'll have me all to yourself." He kisses Laurent then, and this time it's on the mouth.

These kisses are the strangest, and the most glorious. Laurent doesn't understand what it is about them that makes them so exceptional, but they're like nothing else he has ever known.

Nothing has worked the way it’s supposed to since Damen died. Since he showed up in Laurent's bedroom later that night. Laurent would mind, feels like he _should_ mind, but he can’t bring himself to. His uncle is dead. Damen had saved him from that hell. When the police had shown up at Laurent's door and told him what had happened he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel relieved or crushed. Both, maybe. He’d been saved from one hell, but he’d been left alone. Again.

But Damen had promised once that he wouldn’t leave Laurent's side and somehow, impossibly, he’s keeping to that. From sundown to sunup he is there, right where he had promised Laurent he would be. It is impossible, and strange, and bewildering, and Laurent is more grateful than he knows how to express.

But all the same, as he kisses Damen back, he is acutely aware of the way everything has changed. Damen’s mouth is warm, but not as warm as it had been before. There is no breath hitting Laurent’s cheeks when they pull apart for air - so _Laurent_ can get some air - even if Damen’s chest sometimes heaves like he remembers he is supposed to be breathing, even though he can’t do it anymore.

Time never seems to do what it was meant to either. It could have been hours since he’d begun kissing Damen, or it could have been mere moments. It doesn’t seem to matter anymore. So long as the sky outside remains black, nothing seems to matter but that Damen is here, with him, defying logic and explanation and everything else that Laurent used to hold dear before this man stormed into his life, and then left it just as abruptly, taking Laurent’s tormentor with him. And then returned.

Logic, Laurent has learned, does not apply to Damen the way it applies to everyone else.

Damen pulls away eventually, after seconds or hours or maybe a form of time that Laurent doesn’t understand, that he’s only privy to because the man he’s in love with is now a ghost.

“You should go to bed,” Damen says gently, fondly, one hand brushing Laurent’s hair back from his face. His fingers are softer than they were when he was alive; death seems to have removed his calluses. “You’ve had a long day, and tomorrow will probably be even longer.”

He’s right, Laurent knows, but tomorrow and today both seem ages away, far removed from their little plane of existence. He hums noncommittally and leans in for another kiss. Damen obliges, as he always does. This one stretches on for years, emotions seeming to carry on the tips of their fingers and the air around them hangs thick with things words don’t know how to say.

But they understand. Somehow, impossibly, they always understand each other.

When they stop, after an eternity has passed, Laurent stops pulling away before he’s even far enough to be able to look Damen in the eye. “Take me to bed then,” he says quietly, a faint smile teasing around the edges of his mouth.

Damen smiles back, takes him by the wrist, and gently tugs him towards the bedroom.

It had been a game of sorts, when Damen had been alive, where Laurent had all but made Damen carry him to the bedroom every night, but they can’t play that game anymore. Damen’s form dissolves if too much force is asked of him.

So Laurent follows willingly, not drawing attention to this change. He never points out any of the changes. Maybe someday, when Damen’s death is less raw, when this is less new to them both. When Laurent no longer feels like this new bliss he’s found might snap under scrutiny.

They seem to have all the time in the world. They can wait. They can do this slowly. Whatever they need to do.

Everything is slow, drawn out to a crawl, in this piece of time Laurent and Damen have carved out for themselves. Laurent strips slowly out of his suit and into something more comfortable to sleep in, pausing regularly so that Damen can kiss him, or run his fingers through his hair. Almost timid, Laurent does the same back, pleased to see that Damen doesn’t even seem to waver at the touch. He hasn’t quite learned what he can and can’t do to this new Damen yet.

Damen lies down next to him when he gets into bed at last. He considers looking at the clock, but he doesn’t want to know the time. He wants to pretend that this night can go on forever, that the sun is never going to come up, that there is no timeline on his and Damen’s fragile new dynamic to their relationship.

Instead, he looks at Damen, who could almost convince Laurent that he was going to fall asleep too, except for that he is on top of the blankets and still fully dressed. Still wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing when he’d left the day he’d died.

Laurent is just grateful they don’t look the way they must have when he’d been killed. He doesn’t think he could take seeing Damen bloodstained every night. Not knowing that he was the cause.

Damen leans across the bed, presses a kiss to Laurent’s forehead. “Get some sleep, Laurent,” he says gently. “Get through tomorrow. I’ll be here. I promise.”

And Laurent sighs, allowing his exhaustion to win him over at last, and shuts his eyes.

He believes Damen. Damen always keeps his promises.


End file.
